


Miss Missing You

by JaydenMichaelis



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Based on a Fall Out Boy Song, Cyborgs, Robots, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenMichaelis/pseuds/JaydenMichaelis
Summary: Patrick is a robot and Pete is a cyborg. After Pete fails at robbing Patrick, they film the Miss Missing You music video.





	

No one wears an expensive suit or a tie in the middle of this kind of dust-covered, broken-down, desolate parking lot of a neighborhood unless they're asking to get robbed. I don't know what such a well-dressed man is here for, or why, but I know one thing: I'm going to jump this guy before someone else does.

I him as he walks slowly in the direction of the house I'm crouching around the corner of. Looks like walking money to me, I think, as I lunge out and grab his leg when he gets within range. I wrap my fingers around his ankle, my mechanic right hand locking in place like a vice. He glances down and gives me a blank, unsurprised look before he whips his leg around almost imperceptibly fast and flings me off like a human sling shot.

I fly through the air, trying to calculate how best to land, but I'm off due to the fact that three of my fingers are broken and my hand is shorting out. I hit the hard-packed dirt, sliding along, barely protected by my ratty denim vest. I swear I tear off half my epidermis in the process.

I sit up, holding my hand gingerly. "Damn," I groan. Blood covers my arms where they're exposed. I'm a mess, mechanical and otherwise.

"You're only half human." A voice startles me. I look up to see the man looming over me.

Instantly I notice his blinks and breathing are perfectly timed. The calculations are set in front of my eyes in little red numbers. "You aren't human at all." He confirms my statement with a nod.

"Yes. That is correct." His voice is pre-programmed. The lilt and flaws are made to sound human, and it might fool someone who isn't half mechanic but it sure doesn't fool me. I can read the patterns like a blind person reads braille.

"My name is Pete, by the way." I'm attempting to be friendly. He nods again, then says nothing else, nor offers to shake my hand or anything typically cordial. He turns to leave without a good bye. "Wait," I call out. He turns back around. "What's your name?"

"My program name or my false human name?" He asks.

"Human," I reply, rolling my eyes. This guy is a piece of work. More so than me, with my broken metal hand, in desperate need of fixing.

"My human name is Patrick." Patrick states bluntly. "What is your name? And may I ask what factory you came from?" I wonder if he's trying to be friendly but then I remember that Patrick was made in a factory and has no human emotions, unlike me.

"I don't know where I got my machinery from. I don't think it was from a factory."

"What system functions do you have?" Patrick asks, as if ignoring my previous comment altogether. I figure that's because robots aren't programmed to understand social cues.

"Well there's this," I hold up my broken hand, "Mechanical joints and nerves in this hand and arm. My left leg, too. My other limbs just have mechanical joints, but not the nerves. I have a database-"

"What kind?" Patrick cuts me off.

"There are kinds?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Oh," I say, "I don't know what kind I am." Patrick frowns.

"Whatever you are, you're very inefficient." I wonder if that's an insult in robot talk. "I have to go now."

"To do what?" I ask.

"I'm filming a music video."

"Alone?"

"I suppose."

"Do you want more people? I could help," I offer.

"That would be logical," Patrick answers.

"What is the song called?"

"Miss Missing You. I think it's what humans would call pop punk," Patrick elaborates, sounding more mechanical than ever. This guy is so obviously not human, it's surprising no one else has noticed, even if most humans are oblivious.

"Where's your equipment?" I cast a glance around. There's no way Patrick can film with no cameras.

"That van." Patrick points toward a large black van that I had missed in the middle of my recent flight.

"Let's do it, then," I say with a grin. Patrick doesn't return it. His programmers must not be very friendly.

The camera equipment would have been too heavy for normal people. However, Patrick carries all of it out himself. It looks odd, watching a small, skinny-armed man carry hundreds of pounds of equipment with ease. Almost like watching some freakishly realistic cartoon.

There are 25 cameras, set up throughout the trailer park. We hope to capture the whole video in one, maybe two shots, along with filming the extra tidbit where we tromp through a trailer park home. I've talked one of the questionable residents of the trailer park into doing that part of our dirty work.

"So you're going chase me while I hold a metal briefcase?" Patrick nods, leans down to pick a home-made machete that's lying on the ground, and shoves it into my hands. "Also, here. We're going to pretend to kill each other at the end." He waves his right hand, which has a sharp-looking hook attachment on it.

We start off in an abandoned car lot that converges onto the trailer park. Sprinting around the rusted cars and jumping over them, we chase each other all the way through the parking lot and between the trailer houses. We even manage to crash through the home of an unsuspecting old lady.

We end the music video wrestling in the middle of a dirt circle. Patrick snatches at my arm with his hook. Oil spills from my already damaged metal arm. I jab at Patrick with the machete, stabbing his stomach. We both fall to the ground on our backs, spilling oil everywhere, ending the video with a death scene.

"You're going to have to add a black and white filter if you don't want us to look like we have creepy black blood in the video," I say. Patrick laughs mechanically.


End file.
